Las Vegas. Just the name itself ignites imagery, emotions and reactions that generally involve a nervously sick stomach or a feverish anticipation. As we rolled over the final desert hill in our hire car and the Vegas lights hit us, Wood Dog felt compelled to warn us’ “Remember this feeling boys, because you will not be feeling the same way
“Whatever you do, don’t go crazy on alcohol and other women, focus on meditation and exercise, hang on to your spirituality,” This was the solid advice a close friend gave to me before I left Bali after hearing that my partner had left me for another man. Wise words. Positive advice. I completely ignored it. The path to enlightenment may
Walking up to that doorway was easily one of the most nerve-racking set of footsteps I have ever taken. Add up all the music gigs I’ve performed over the years and none of them quite reach the depth of emotions driving my state of mind as I approached that house. My entrance through that doorway wasn’t hinged on how a bunch of strangers
From the moment we hit the 30 degree tarmac at JFK airport it was like slipping into a dress-up party on steroids. All the clichés rolled into one long ride but in the rawest of footage and stripped of cheese. The real deal. kids cracking up under burst fire hydrant mist, doughnut munching cops, fast talking pan handlers, swinging hips
It’s kicked off. I’ve cracked off. An acoustic tour lined up in the USA lined up and locked in. Two good mates joining me to road trip the f*&k out of as many cliched map names as possible. From Manhattan to California with my guitar and loop pedals on board and then onward, upward, downward and a lot of sideways.